Page 25 of Finding Home with You

When I left at eighteen I told myself I wouldn’t look back and that included never running something as simple as an Internet search. I couldn’t take the risk of connecting myself to any of this, and by leaving any kind of digital footprint I would.

But, my anonymity is gone now.

I look at the name floating in the search bar, and swallow hard before hitting enter. I know there’s no going back.

The links begin to pop up, each bringing what I thought they would and loaded down with words like racketeering, weapons, extortion, money laundering, and the one I hoped wouldn’t appear is there, glaring and loud: murder.

I’d be lying to myself if I said he wasn’t guilty of it. He’s guilty of all of it. The only saving grace is that I’d never full on witnessed any of it. Somehow I stayed hidden, but still directly in the path.

There were quiet conversations at night, phone calls and late night arrivals and departures, but more than that was the second hand information that I never wanted to be privy to. It’s what made me leave.

It’s what made me leave him.

I scroll through the article links, never clicking on any of them, and when my cursor hovers over the images tab, I hate myself immediately after I click it.

Because it’s his face staring back at me, and he’s the one person I never want to see again.

Just as I’m about to scroll down through the pictures I hear the creak of the bedroom door and Finn’s heavy feet landing on the wooden floor. My heart jumps into my throat and my shaky hand tries to navigate the mouse pad. Clicking quickly, I exit the page and close my laptop just as Finn appears in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Looking at porn?” he asks, his voice hoarse with sleep. “Your face is flushed.”

I laugh knowing that only Finn can make a comment like that seem so casual and comical at the same time.

“No, but we can if you want,” I quip back and he chuckles. “You lonely?”

“How can I be lonely? I’ve been stuck dealing with your ass for the last decade. I’ve been in a relationship for ten years without any benefits.” He gives my shoulder a little shove as he walks by and winks at me.

I know he’s joking but it still stings a little. I do feel like a burden on him, even more so now. Things are only going to get more complicated from here.

The envelope from last night is lying on the kitchen table in front of me, and when Finn sits down across from me his eyes float over it quickly. It’s the elephant in the room; the one thing I’d rather pretend doesn’t exist.

“What are you going to do?” he asks, his head nodding toward the envelope.

I haven’t opened it, almost like if I do I’m admitting I was once a part of it all.

“The only thing I can do,” I answer back. “I’m going to go. I can’t keep hiding.”

Reaching for the envelope, I slide it across the table and leave it sitting in front of me. My name is written across the front, a name I no longer recognize, but I know will always be a part of me.

I changed my name shortly after I left home, because I knew if I didn’t he’d find me immediately. But I also knew I couldn’t change my first name. By coming to Rockport I had a support system. I had Kelsey and Finn, but they’d known me as Erin since we were kids and I felt like it would complicate things even more. I stuck with Erin but dumped my middle and last name, and in doing that I created someone new.

I went to college as Erin Connelly, got my first job as her and have lived my life as her ever since. It wasn’t nearly as complicated or difficult as I thought it would be.

It’s funny how much no one cares about the things that came before you turned eighteen. We’re led to believe that those things matter. That you need to graduate from high school in order to get into college, and while Erin Fitzgerald graduated from high school, Erin Connelly got her GED and used that to register for college.

No one noticed that Erin Connelly quietly slipped through the cracks and made a life for herself.

That is until now.

Finn and I sit in silence, the envelope begging to be opened and that’s just what I do. Slipping my finger under one end of the sealed tab, I begin to tear it open, and then I pull a single sheet of paper from it.

The letter is simple, and basically states the location and the date. I feared the unknown, the basic contents of a manila envelope, which seems ridiculous now. Facing him should be my biggest concern, because I know he’ll be there.

“What’s it say?” Finn asks when I don’t say anything. “Did they give you a date?”

“About eight weeks from today I have to appear in court. I guess that’s the start of the trial.”

“I guess it’s about time you tell Ryan,” Finn says, shrugging his shoulders as he gets up from the table. “I gotta go. Gotta get to the station.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head.

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